We're All Mad Here
by UndressTheseBeautifulLies
Summary: What if, at her time in the asylum, Alice met some familiar faces? It would be here that she'd meet the people who she was destined to spend forever with, even if any home they'd make together would be just another madhouse. AU/AH, Jalice, other canon couples too.
1. Prologue

_**So this has been in my mind for a little while now, I've finally gotten around to writing a couple of chapters and I'm liking how they're looking so I decided to upload. Hope you enjoy. The next chapters will be longer than this short prologue.**_

 **Prologue**

Looking at us now, smiling around the dinner table, you'd think we were any ordinary family. Okay, I'll admit – we do look like mismatched pieces of the whole puzzle. We don't fit together in the most conventional way.

But we look happy.

My father, a renowned neuro-surgeon who craves to know everything there is to know about the human mind and brain, doesn't scribble furiously on a notepad. Rather, he sits back and observes as a father should – proudly overlooking his family. My mother's once glassy, non-emotive eyes now light up, holding such hope and plans for the future.

They weren't always my parents. A year ago I would have laughed if anyone had suggested that they'd be even remotely close to that bond. We don't always agree. Sometimes, I think that I'd miss them much more than they'd ever miss me, then my mother always kisses my cheek before I go to bed, and my father always tells me how smart I am, a compliment coming from someone who knows what smart really is, and I feel as if they love me, too. Maybe we're not the most conventional parent-child relationship.

But they're my parents nonetheless.

My brothers pick a fight over whose turn it is to do the dishes. One swears he did it last night, the other swears he did. They argue with each other and they argue with our parents and God knows they argue with me. They argue with my sisters and they argue with the air in an empty room given half a chance. Sometimes I feel like slamming the door and hearing the silence for just one second again, to hear myself think for even half a minute. I write in my journal how I wish I could shut them up for even a few seconds, the amount of noise they seem to produce is astronomical.

But they're my brothers and I wouldn't change them for the world.

My sisters tell each other that they like each other's nail polish. I can tell that they're both thinking suspiciously that the other one has stolen hers from her room, even though they've been told time and time again to keep out of each other's things. They're both girly and perfectly polished, from the tips of their nails to the tips of their (not a split end in sight) hair. I wish I was more assertive and then I could tell them both that actually, both of those nail polishes came from my room. Again, something else to write in the journal.

But they're my sisters and whatever they steal from me, no-one can steal the love I feel for them.

My boyfriend squeezes my hand under the table, a sign that tells me he's still there for me, even if my mind is off in a wonderland that I'm not ready to escape from yet. I could smile at him, but that would mean starting a conversation. Sometimes a conversation with him is like getting blood from a stone. No, that's not true. It's only when he's with lots of people that he stays so quiet. On walks in the woods he has stories to tell me that I've only ever heard chapters of. I wish he'd learn to tell me more.

But he's my boyfriend and no-one else understands me like he does.

I didn't always think I'd end up here. I don't know what I thought. Maybe six feet under is more of an accurate depiction of what I believed I'd be this time last year. It's all so strange to me. Sometimes I wonder if I really was meant to die in that place, I wonder if death is a release that eludes me continuously, for I seem to cheat it far more than the average person.

But this is my life and after all, who else could tell my story?


	2. Welcome To Wonderland

I barely feel the hand on my arm as I'm led up a long, gravely path. Maybe it's the sedatives that they gave me to stop me from escaping, or maybe it's the fact that I don't want to feel anything at all anymore. I feel so heavy as I'm dragged towards the rusting gates at the other end of the path, covered in a fortress of nettles, maybe to keep people out. Or, more frighteningly, to keep me _in._

"Keep up," a gruff voice tells me, pulling on my arm. "Dr Cullen would like to see you soon." I don't respond. What is there to say? I don't particularly want to see this doctor, but an argument would have no effect and physically trying to escape would result in more sedatives or being man-handled by some well-meaning orderly who's trying to impress a nurse.

We reach the gates, and I look up at the building. _Roseview Asylum._ Roseview. What a fallacy. There is nothing rosy about this place and its old crumbling ruins of a building. I shake my head minutely and follow my guide into the building, trying to stop the tears from seeping from my eyes. I wipe the tears away from my cheeks carefully but my hand is quickly yanked back by the guide, who glares at me with his dark eyes. "Oh no you don't," he says, and I can't fathom what he thought I was doing. "Those nails will have to be cut." I let my eyebrows knit together in confusion but again, don't respond. I'm too tired to give a coherent response. When we finally reach the doors to the building, I'm led to a quiet, dark room where I'm told to wait for instructions, and sat down on an uncomfortable waiting room chair.

I stare at the white washed walls and don't move, even when I faintly hear a name being called. This results in me being yanked up once again. A blonde-haired man is waiting at the doorframe for me, smiling warmly. "I'll take her from here, Frank," he says, unhooking my arm from the tight grip of the orderly I now know is called Frank. Red fingerprints encircle my wrist and I rub it with my other hand, wincing with the pain. The blond doctor smiles at me once again and leads me inside to his office.

He sits me down onto a comfier chair and sits down himself behind his desk, the smile permanently fixed on his face like the Cheshire Cat.

"So, Mary," he begins. My head snaps up and I frown. "Is something the matter?" He asks, like he really cares. I hesitate for a moment, contemplating if it's worth correcting him. Something about the way he tilts his head in concern makes my mind up for me, and I whisper out my name.

"It's Alice." I tell him. "My name."

"Alice," he smiles. "Like in Wonderland. I'm Dr Cullen. You can call me Carlisle."

"Am I crazy?" I ask. He frowns for a second, mainly because my question seems out of the blue. But I've read Alice in Wonderland. I know how not everything is as it seems, how sometimes things happen that you can't explain. But doctors wouldn't; not even with Alice in Wonderland. I'm just a different Alice in a different kind of wonderland.

"No…" he says, clearly struggling to answer my question. "You're just unwell." I stare blankly at him.

"Who decides that? Why don't I get to decide that?" I struggle to keep my voice steady and put my head in my hands. "I'm not crazy. I'm not sick."

"I know you're confused, and that this is strange place to be in, but I think once you've settled in you'll realise how good it is to have a break from what's been going on."

"What does that even mean?" I ask. "I don't want a break from my visions. They keep me safe. They keep everyone around me safe."

"Like your mother?" He asks. I flinch at his question. He lowers his voice and adds, "You have to read between the lines in what I say, Alice." He glances at the door and continues, "Not everyone will understand you here, but I'd like to think that I try a little bit harder to get to know you and my other patients. A break doesn't always mean from your own head. I've read your file. If anything, this is a chance to have a break from your family."

"Okay," I whisper, too weary to argue and too in awe of this strange, new doctor to say much else.

He stands and opens the office door. "I will take you to your new room. You have a roommate, I hope you two will get along well. I'm sure you will."

I attempt a weak smile. I think it comes out as more of a grimace, but he leads me to my room with a smile nonetheless. Endless corridors separate Dr Cullen's office from the patient's rooms. They're split into dormitories, one for women, one for men, and one for children. I'm 17 now, so Dr Cullen follows the signs that say women's ward, though he doesn't seem to have to look at any directions. I'm not sure if it's reassuring or terrifying that he seems to know this place like the back of his hand, with nowhere for me to hide. Maybe it'll work to my advantage. I've never had a doctor who cared enough to actually learn the hospital, and to care enough that he listened when I corrected my name. I don't think I've met another person – doctor or otherwise – that smiles as much, either.

After what feels like an eternity, we reach room 213. "This is your room," Dr Cullen says brightly, giving a swift rap on the door before swinging it open. I peek inside from behind Dr Cullen. Instantly, I see another flash of blonde hair. I see her reflection before I see her. Two violet eyes rip themselves away from their own reflection to stare at me, and I stare at her, and then myself in the reflection. Her shiny blonde hair tumbles down her back in curly waves, clipped in place with several pins. Her eyelashes were impossibly long and fluttery, and her lips were plump and pink. My own hair is lank and the color of mud, and my eyelashes are incredibly short. I have small, doll-like features that make me appear about ten years old compared to the beautiful lady in front of me. The brush that had frozen in the air, mid-brush, was thrown to the mirror in a fit of rage, leaving an ugly crack that splits the two of us even before we've met. The eyes narrow and the girl turns around angrily, standing and stalking over to the door.

"I told you I didn't want a roommate," the girl spits venomously, her eyes flashing to me and then back to Doctor Cullen.

"And I told you, you don't have a choice. I'm sorry, Rosalie, but…" he begins, sounding firm but apologetic. I understand; I didn't want a roommate either. I'd much rather be allowed to wallow in my own self-pity than have to justify my actions to someone I'd cross the street to avoid in everyday life.

"Why does no-one listen to me in this place?" Rosalie interrupts. Dr Cullen sighs, and I have the feeling he's wondering the same thing as he rubs his temples. "I never wanted to come here in the first place!"

"You're doing so well here, Rosalie. And of course we listen," Dr Cullen says soothingly, his forehead creasing in concern, "But some things simply aren't possible, I'm afraid. Now, if you want me to replace that mirror, again," he adds, sounding faintly irritated, "You'll be nice to Alice. Won't you?"

"Fine," she relents, tossing back her long hair. "But just you know, Carlisle, I won't be happy about it."

He smiles warmly, seemingly ignoring her last comment, and touches her arm gently. She doesn't seem to appreciate this gesture, but she doesn't push him away either. "Good girl."

Praise seems to please her and she preens like an exotic bird, those eyelashes fluttering again. Dr Cullen gives me a gentle push inside and closes the door behind me, whispering, "You'll be fine," while I flounder for words.

Once the door is shut and Dr Cullen is far away in his own world somewhere deep in the corridors, Rosalie turns to me and sizes me up. "Stay away from Emmett," she hisses. "Though he's not a cradle robber; I'm sure he won't be interested in you. How old are you, anyway?" When I don't respond, she snaps her fingers in front of my face. "Uh, hello?"

" _Uh, hello, he likes you!" Rosalie says, smirking. "You can see it in his eyes. And you like him, too." She leans back onto her chair, her dress puffing out at her sides as she leans on her elbows. "You'll kiss him by the end of the week."_

" _Oh, no, no." I say. "That's not happening." Rosalie winks._

" _We'll see."_

"Earth to Alice?" Rosalie shakes my shoulders, and I shake my fuzzy head. The mild sedatives must be wearing off. I don't have visions when they put me on medication. It's like my brain is too tired to do anything but try and fight sleep. I blink a few times and try and focus on her again. Who was she talking about in my vision? I squint at her. Could she ever really be my friend? Someone to confide in? By the anger in her eyes, I'm guessing no. I'm also guessing she isn't ignored very often. I'm not trying to be rude, I just can't seem to focus on anything apart from my own thoughts.

"What?" I ask. "Oh, I'm seventeen." Rosalie scoffs, looking me up and down. I clutch my bag to my body, hiding myself. I don't know why they bothered sending me here with a virtually empty bag, but I'm glad they did now. It's a good shield from Rosalie's dagger eyes.

"You look about fourteen." She hesitates for a moment, but then looks sure of herself once again. "What just happened?"

"What do you mean?" I whisper, praying that she won't tell anyone about what she just saw even if she's not sure what that was.

"Nothing." Rosalie nods at me, turning her attention to brushing her hair again. "Just remember to stay away from Emmett," she tells me, sounding much less angry and much more preoccupied than the last menacing time. I put my bag down and sit on the bed, staring at the floor.

After a while, which seems like years, she puts her brush down. She glances at the clock on the wall and stands. "Dinner time. Don't get excited. It's the equivalent to school lunch – absolutely disgusting. On the plus side, it keeps me skinny." She once again looks me up and down, trying to scope me out. "Is that how you're so skinny? What are you, anorexic? Do you not eat?"

I tilt my head in confusion and frown. "I do eat," I correct her, but I don't elaborate further. I don't plan on telling her why I'm here. I'd rather let her list every single illness in the world for me to reject it than telling her in some kind of twisted, sick heart to heart with a girl who clearly thought I was crazy, and who I thought was crazy, too.

She shrugs as if she doesn't care – but I know she does, I can see it in those striking eyes of hers – and leads me to the cafeteria. There, she slides down next to a huge boy who she seems to adore. Clearly, the feeling is mutual as he pulls her closer and begins to kiss her before they even exchange a hello. I look away, embarrassed. I sit down to a table on my own, quietly watching the surroundings. It doesn't take long for the seat across from me to be taken up by an anxious looking young woman. Her caramel hair fanned in front of her face and she bit her lip nervously. About thirty years old, she sat in front of me, biting her nails and sighing periodically. I watched her warily and it took her a while to even notice my presence.

"Oh! You're new," she says sullenly, with a concerned frown on her face. She tuts and stares at me reproachfully, biting her nails once again. She shakes her head. "You're just a _baby,"_ she says forcefully. I jump, but soon notice she doesn't mean any harm as she takes my hands in her own. "How could your parents put you in such a horrible, loveless place?" She chokes back a sob but fails to compose herself, the tears flowing down her face in an uncontrolled manner. "Some people don't deserve to be parents! I did, sweetheart, I was going to be a good mother. I still can be," she insists. "But he's gone, and I have so much love and no-one to give it to me. And because I'm sad, they put me here! I'm not crazy."

"I know," I tell her, trying to be comforting, but struggling for words, "You must have loved him very much."

"I did," she says, sounding deliriously relieved that I seem to understand, though I feel like I'm batting in the dark for the right words.

Suddenly, I'm being yanked from my seat. This time, though, it's Rosalie doing the yanking. "Sorry, Alice has to go. We're eating over here." Rosalie says, pulling me away before I can say anything properly. I follow her dumbly, not knowing what to do or say and happy to be led. I watch the woman as Rosalie drags me to her table, and see her silent sobs as a call for help.

I don't reply to those calls, and instead face Rosalie in a confused way. I'm confused about two things – why that woman is so terribly upset, and what happened to her son, and why I'm sitting here with Rosalie and her boyfriend, who I'm guessing is Emmett.

"That's Esme," Rosalie explains, her glance pitying. "Her baby died and she tried to kill herself. Didn't see a reason to live. She's always that upset, even when they medicate her." Rosalie watches Esme for a moment and then shakes her head. "She's right, you know. It isn't fair. Look at her, she's traumatised. And yet my parents hope they throw away the key!"

"That's not true," Emmett says, mostly to me. He turns to Rosalie and frowns. "You saw them last weekend."

"Well, they didn't bring me any new clothes," she says flippantly, frowning at the memory. I wonder what Rosalie's problem is as she picks at her food and rolls her own eyes at Emmett.

"That's because you're becoming a hoarder," he booms with laughter, ignoring the glares he gets from around the room. Rosalie flutters her eyelashes at him and smiles, one of the only smiles I've seen since I met her a few hours ago.

"Because I want to look beautiful for you."

"Well, you're always beautiful to me." He tells her. I watch them as they display their affection so carelessly, so publically, something I wish I was able to do. Whilst they engage in their kissing once more, I turn my attention to Esme once again, who now holds her empty arms to her chest, looking like she should be holding a baby, which, I suppose, she should be. Her expression holds intangible and irrevocable sadness as she looks up to the ceiling, her arms always protectively to her chest no matter how the rest of her body moves.

Looking at her makes me sad, and I decide that I don't want to be sad anymore, so I look around at the different people who take up the cafeteria. There are so many different faces, so many different stories in this room. Isn't it strange to think that every person you so casually pass on the street has a life as confusing, difficult and complex as your own? How their troubles amount to the same amount of lost sleep as yours, and how their dreams float among yours in the sky as they cloud-watch?

Whether it was due to my deep thoughts, or the fact that I was emotionally drained, or the fact that it had been an exceptionally long day, I feel exhausted. Muttering an excuse to Rosalie, I head slowly to my room. On the way there, I notice the garden. Without hesitating, I step out into the cold, dark night. There's something strangely comforting about the way your lungs hurt when you breathe in exceptionally cold air, and I let my eyes close in the darkness. The goose bumps that form on my arm remind me I'm alive, if not completely well, and, feeling adequately tired, I drag myself into my room, closing the door quietly behind me. I undress slowly and yawn relentlessly as I try to haul my heavy limbs into my pajamas, and fall into my small single bed. As I pull the covers over my head, I miss the smell of my mother's perfume on my pillows at home, feeling a pang of sadness as a tear slips out from my eye. Deciding to focus on the present, I wipe my tears with the scratchy comforter and focus on today's timeline, piecing it together in my mind.

My eyes feel so heavy and my head is pounding a steady beat as I comb over the day's events, drifting off to a hopefully dreamless sleep. I only get to relive up until meeting Dr Cullen when my heavy eyes begin to close without my permission and I fall into a darkness, wondering how on earth this Alice was ever going to escape this very special wonderland.


	3. Sleepless Nights and Cowboys

My eyes flutter open into the darkness. I squint into the low light at the clock, which reads two AM, and yawn tiredly. My eyes search the room for the source of the disturbance, and I see a shadowy figure sitting at the dressing table of my room. Rosalie. Then I hear the steady _swish swish swish_ of her nail file running across her perfectly manicured nails. She glances up at me, her expression remaining unchanged, and continues to file until she appears happy with her work. She then blows on her nails and places the file down on her table, and turns to me properly.

"Oh, I woke you," she states, her tone of voice neither embarrassed nor apologetic. I raise an eyebrow but don't comment, instead leaning on my elbows to watch her. Not only crushing self-assured and confident, my stunningly beautiful new roommate is also an unapologetically noisy insomniac.

"I see why you didn't want a roommate." I say, pulling the covers over my face so just my eyes remained uncovered and trying not to yawn again.

"I assure you, you do not," she replies, sounding a little haughty as she raises her own eyebrow at me. "But I can see why you'd think that."

Not quite knowing how to respond, or if I should, I try not to let the confusion be written all over my face. Instead, I ask: "Don't you need your beauty sleep?" My question is met with a huff of irritation and a sigh thrown in my direction, and I cringe at her response.

"No, but you probably do," Rosalie replies in a low tone. "You should sleep. I don't want you to be ratty when you're woken up at eight. That's when we go for breakfast."

"You eat?" I ask, mimicking her from last night. Those blue eyes go on rolling once again, and she shoots me a look of annoyance, though it's gone as soon as it arrives.

"Don't be facetious," she warns. Part of me knows it's time to back off, but I can't help myself from replying with something snarky.

"That's a big word."

" _Those_ are big words," she hisses. "I'm not dumb because I'm blonde."

"Well, I'm not naïve because I look young. You didn't have to drag me away from Esme earlier, just because she was upset."

"I didn't take you away because she was upset." Rosalie insists, looking mightily peeved at my unconvinced expression. "I did it because I didn't want to listen to you crying all night."

"Why would I cry?" I ask her. Rosalie scoffs at my response, and shakes her head.

"Because I assume you're not a psychopath," she replies, "And Esme is suffering a lot. Clearly, she would have been a good mother." She sighs, and looks to the ground. "I would have been, too." I can see that she hasn't meant to let her guard down as much as she had done as her expression changes to a sour glare once again. I decide to even it out by telling her something, too, in the hopes that it'll mellow her attitude to me out a little.

"I wonder what that's like," I give a false laugh. "Having parents who care."

"Oh, come off it." Rosalie snaps. "They cared enough to put you in here." I nod my head in agreement.

"I suppose my mother cared, when she was alive. Not enough to do the right thing, though…and my father, he cares, yes. He cares what the neighbors think."

"Your mother died?" Rosalie asks. I nod, smiling sadly at her. "I'm sorry." She glances at the pictures by her mirror, and I see an older woman, who looks very much like Rosalie herself, smiling at the camera. She touches the old, tatty photo gently, one finger extending to stroke her own mother's face.

"It's alright. There was nothing I could have done; nothing more she could have done. Every path was the same…every option ended up with her blood on the kitchen floor." I shake my head and snap back to reality, shaking the memory of the pool of blood and shot gun on the kitchen floor out of my mind. It's only once I see Rosalie's horrified face that I realize that I, too, have shared too much too quickly. I glance up at her worriedly. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

She winks at me, the picture now in her lap. "Said what?"

* * *

I don't remember falling asleep, but it feels like I only slept for a few minutes before the sun is streaming in through the caged window and my room door is being opened by a blonde nurse. Is _everybody_ blonde in this place? "Wake up, Miss Brandon," she says, walking over to me. "I'm Nurse Irina. I'm going to take you to your first therapy session with Dr Cullen. Up now, get dressed. You can have breakfast afterwards, Dr Cullen is a very busy man." She tells me this with a smile on her face, like I'm the luckiest girl in the world to get to share my free time with him. He's fine, nice enough, but I don't feel honoured to be in his company any more than I feel that way with anyone else.

I wait for her to leave before getting undressed, but she simply stands in the middle of the room. "Come on, what are you waiting for? Whatever you've got under those night clothes, I've seen it all before. I'm a woman too, and a nurse! Nothing could surprise me. Just slip on something comfy and out we go. Your appointment is at nine, and it's always best to get there a few minutes early."

I nod silently and awkwardly slip out of my pajamas, my cheeks tingeing red as I stand, mostly naked, in front of a total stranger. I battle to get into my clothes without exposing myself and end up hot and flustered by the time she is ushering me out of the door, still trying to slip on my shoes. My shoulders are steered in all the right directions as I'm led to Dr Cullen's office. By the time we get there, it's only ten to, but Dr Cullen smiles warmly and invites me in, thanking the nurse for bringing me so promptly.

He sifts through the notes on his desk, and finds mine relatively quickly, giving a muted, "Aha!" as he gathers them together. "So, Alice," he begins, and I wonder if he actually knew my name or just read it off of the paper. I don't get much time for contemplation as he asks me a question almost instantly. "How did you sleep?"

Something in my head tells me that this is a double edged sword type of question. If I say no, he'll ask me why, and I'll have to explain that Rosalie was up half the night (as far as I know) and kept me up with her beauty routines. If I say yes, I'll already be lying. I press my lips together in a thin line and glance at Dr Cullen, who is looking at me strangely. "It isn't a trick question, Alice. I was just making conversation. Nothing psychological here. Okay?"

I nod, unconvinced, and wait for his next comment. "How about Rosalie? Is she being a good roommate?"

"We're getting on fine," I tell him, not particularly giving anything away. It wasn't a lie; we were neither fighting nor best buddies. "She took me to the cafeteria last night."

"That was nice of her," Dr Cullen notes, half his attention on my words and the other half on the notes in front of him. "So, I see here from your notes that you're here because of a few reasons."

"Oh, do you." I reply, raising my eyebrows at him. "I'm sure that file holds many fallacies about me." I roll my eyes, "I'd better stop talking, though. Don't want you to add "paranoid" to the very long list. So…what's your diagnonsense?"

Dr Cullen sighs and places his notes on the table in front of him, glancing at me. "You're very cynical, Alice, and I understand, but you really do have to try and work with me. Don't you want to leave this place and get on with your life?"

"What life?" I counter. "What is waiting for me outside of these walls?"

"Well, anything you'd like!" Dr Cullen exclaims. "There is nothing sadder than a young pessimist, my dear. What would you like to do, you must consider, to answer that question." I do consider this, as I stare back at him. I've never been quite sure what I want to do. Fashion is a big interest of mine, but I don't think they do customisable straitjackets here, so I'm somewhat stuck. "My main concern, at this moment in time, is that you're not settling. How are you doing? I'm sure everything seems very strange and alien to you, but with time, you should feel more comfortable in sharing your feelings with me."

I nod absentmindedly and scan his office for points of interest. I see many books, medical mostly, with other medical knickknacks lying around. I also see pencils and paper lying on his desk, which is something I'd like to snatch. If nothing else, this place could be a good start on honing in on my fashion designing skills. Unfortunately, that isn't possible without paper and pens. Dr Cullen notices my glance and, tentatively, offers out a pencil and paper. "Why don't you take some, my dear," he says, holding them out to me. "Drawing is an excellent way of expressing yourself."

And though I feel there must be some hidden agenda behind him freely offering up the paper and pencils, I take them before he can change his mind, and he smiles at me. "That's enough for today. Go and have breakfast, talk to people. Everything seems better in the day time."

I make a detour to my room to drop off my drawing supplies before heading out to the cafeteria. I open the door and find the room empty, so I guess Rosalie is already having breakfast or just hanging out somewhere else. I know there's a TV room, but I don't know where or what it really is, and my stomach is growling in protest, so I head to the cafeteria.

There, I'm given some cereal and a little cup with pills in, and my name on. I'm told to take them and to give the cup back to show I've really swallowed them. Before I get the chance to ask what I'm being given, my hand is pushed up to my mouth and I have to take a swig of water just to get the horrible taste of half-dissolved pills out of my mouth. As I'm coughing, a boy of around 19 pushes in front of me smoothly and whispers to the cook, "Sweetheart, is it too much to ask for pancakes around here?"

His smooth Southern accent makes whatever he's saying sound like a melody, and for a moment I even find myself losing my concentration to his honey blond hair and accent. Whilst he waits for his pancakes, which unbelievably, the cook has agreed to, he glances me up and down. I glare at him and he simply smirks.

"Is your name as pretty as your face, sweetheart?" He asks me. "When it's not snarling at me, that is," he adds with a cheeky grin.

I don't smile back at him. Instead, I make a grab for my cereal, which is sitting on the counter behind him. What I don't anticipate is him grabbing my hand. When he does, I kick his shin and the smile instantly fades from his face. "Those pills making you anti-social?" He asks, stepping back slightly but still loosely holding my wrist. I snatch my hand away and take my cereal.

"No, I was always anti-social." I snap, taking a seat somewhere far away from the counter. Half way through my bowl of some unidentifiable breakfast cereal, I'm joined by him once again, and of course, his stack of pancakes. I sigh as he takes his seat. "Listen," I say, glaring at him again, "I know you and your ego need a lot of breathing room but there's plenty of room in this cafeteria away from me."

"Why would I wanna be away from you?" He asks. The quirk of his lips and the way he always manages to stay so collected, so smooth, infuriates me. I roll my eyes and look around the room. My eyes find a corner of the room where Rosalie sits alone, and I stand to join her. "Before you go!" He says, standing. He takes my hand again, and kissing it, introduces himself. "I'm Jasper. Jasper Whitlock."

"Good to know." I tell him as I walk away.

Rosalie is picking at something as identifiable as my cereal when I sit down across from her. "I saw that." Rosalie smirks, not even looking up to say hello.

"Saw what?" I ask, looking down at myself. It's hard not to be on edge around Rosalie. She always seems to be one step ahead of you.

"You and that kid. He's trouble, you know," she says. "You'd better watch out."

"I'm not scared of him." I insist, though I probably would be if he hadn't been so passive to my aggressiveness.

"I know." Rosalie says, finally looking up at me. Her eye is black, bruised and swollen shut. The other eye is perfectly made up, with a cat eye flick coming from it. The ugly, misplaced bruise looks so absurd on her beautiful face that I double take. "That's why I'm telling you."

"What happened to you?" I gasp. She rolls her eyes. Well, she rolls one. The black eye flickers and then she winces in pain, though she tries hard to disguise it.

"You should see the other girl." Rosalie whips back. I don't push it any further, because she looks utterly miserable. "Was he bothering you?"

"Jasper?" I ask. Rosalie nods. I shake my head, considering. "He was just being a jerk. Does he call everybody sweetheart?"

"Only if he wants something from you." Rosalie scoffs, and glances at the clock. "Well, I've gotta go. Appointment with Carlisle."

"Oh," I say, already feeling lonely at the thought of her leaving. "I saw him this morning."

"Oh, really," she says, sounding unimpressed. "I'm sure he asked about me." I shrug.

"A little," I reply, watching the smirk appear on her face. She nods, almost triumphant, and shakes her head. I get the feeling she'd have been madder if I'd have said "no". She fixes her hair, making sure no stray hair is out of place, and struts out of the room, her heels clicking along the floor. I wonder if she's allowed stilettos. I, for one, hope not. Those heels could be used as a weapon and I don't want her stabbing me because I forget to pick up a sock from our room floor. Not that I think she would…not for a sock, anyway. Probably a shoe.

I'm so engrossed in my own thoughts that I don't hear Jasper sitting across from me until he obnoxiously slams his drink down, making me jump. I stare at him from across the table, and he smiles at me. A real smile this time, not a smirk. I don't smile back, but I don't frown. "I know you don't like me. But a guy can't be around that, can he?" He gestures back to the table he vacated, and I see two new people sitting there, obviously a couple. Their foreheads are pressed together, their noses touching. The boy has bronze colored hair, and is staring into a chocolate-haired girl's eyes.

"A guy? Don't be sexist. I wouldn't want to be around that, either. It's sickening."

"No chance of an Eskimo kiss, then?" Jasper teases. I roll my eyes. If he keeps this up, I'm going to have marbles for eyes the amount of rolling they've been doing.

"I'd say no."

"Alright, how about you say your name, too?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Tell me about them, and I'll tell you my name." He shrugs his shoulders and nods.

"Okay. That's Bella and Edward. Her dad is the police chief. Her anxiety got so bad that she couldn't leave the house. So he put her in here. Feels guilty as hell, though. Visits her all the time."

"And him?" I ask.

"An orphan. Not sure why he's here. If you ask around, they just say he's got a tortured soul, whatever that means." He raises an eyebrow and leans towards me. "Now, your name?"

"Alice." I tell him. He frowns, and I raise my eyebrows. "Not as pretty as my face, then?"

"No, no…I just heard your name was Mary," he admits. Now, I know I'm in a mental asylum, so probably shouldn't be judging, but the people here really are crazy.

"If you knew my name, then why were you asking?" I ask, incredulous.

"Good question. But one I don't have to answer, seeing as _someone_ gave me the wrong information.." He shakes his head, and I get the feeling that he's usually pretty good at getting his own way by schmoozing people. Still, I can't help but feel a little giddy around him, too. Something about those eyes…Focus, Alice! I snap my attention back to him and watch the confusion cloud his features. "So, why are you in here?" He asks. I weigh up the options, wondering what to tell him. After a few moments of consideration, I stand to leave.

"Good question. But one I don't have to answer," I call over my shoulder. I leave Jasper Whitlock sitting all alone, looking rather confused.

As I walk back to my room, I think to myself that I'm glad I'm not the only one confused in this place.

 _ **A/N:**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy this chapter and have been having a good week..better than mine! Cheer me up with some reviews?! :P**_


	4. How Do You Tell The Future?

It's been a week since I arrived. You could count it in a variety of ways; seven days here, five appointments with Carlisle here, seven nights of keeping Rosalie company while she can't sleep here, one hundred and sixty eight hours here.

Not that I've been counting.

"Alice, are you listening to me?" Dr Cullen asks. I lift my head up and look at him, almost tempted to shake my head. Instead, I stare at him and wait for him to repeat whatever he just said. "I'll take that as a no, shall I?" He says lightly, shuffling his notes. "I asked if you'd been settling in okay. It's been a week now and I've heard that you've been talking to some people, making friends." I fight the urge to roll my eyes. It sounds like I'm five years old again and starting school. I smile at the memory of my mother gently steering my shoulders into the school building, my little sister on her hip. She had smiled at me, her eyes wide with excitement and mine wide with anticipation, and told me that I would have so much fun and make so many new friends. I hadn't, but the memory of my mother's encouragement always made me smile. "Shall I take that smile as a yes?" Dr Cullen asks.

I shrug my shoulders. "If it makes your job easier." I get shot a warning glance but on the whole he ignores my comment and moves swiftly on.

"I want to make sure you're not feeling lonely." He sighs and puts his hands together. "It must be hard to see other people having visitors," he says, trying to be tactful. I sigh this time, and pull my legs up to rest my chin on my knees.

"Not really."

"Really?" He says doubtfully. "I think I would miss my friends."

"You can't miss what you never had." I shake my head. "Besides, I wouldn't want to come here, either. Would you?"

"I come here voluntarily every day," Dr Cullen says, pride in his tone. I scoff.

"I'm sure that's all from the goodness of your heart rather than the expansion of your bank balance, then." He smiles at me, but shakes his head.

"You're very astute, Alice. But I think you're wrong about me." He glances at the clock. "Well, our time is up. I think your first week here has been a success. You've ticked all of the boxes and you seem to be settling in fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

I give a salute as I leave the room, and he shakes his head at me, though he's still smiling. I like Dr Cullen. I don't think any other doctor I've had has let me sit in therapy for a week and say nothing of importance. Most want your innermost secrets and thoughts the second your foot is across the door. It's nice, sometimes, just to talk. Even if you know the person you're talking to is being paid to be interested, it's still good to get it out into the open.

Waiting for me outside the office is Jasper Whitlock, lingering in the corridor. He stands in front of me, blocking my path. I glance at him, willing myself not to frown as I see his lips quirk up into a smirk. "We just keep bumping into each other." He says, leaning against the door frame.

"Jasper," a voice calls. I turn and see Dr Cullen standing in the doorway. "It's time for your appointment."

"I know." Jasper says, still not moving. "But I'm talking to Alice. How's about five more minutes, Doc?"

Unbelievably, Carlisle shakes his head but retreats back into his office, and I'm left speechless. What's so special about this boy? Everyone seems to fall at his feet. Hands on my hips, I square up to him, though he has at least a foot on me.

He smirks at me, edging closer. "Cat got your tongue?"

"No," I say, tilting my head in mock interest. "But I've learned that it's difficult to argue with stupid, so I generally don't try."

"Uh huh," he says, his tone telling me that he's unconvinced of my words. "I'll see you later, Alice…" He nods at me as he saunters into Dr Cullen's office. I shake my head as I walk away, a frown making my forehead crease. I can't help how he is able to get under my skin, as much as I try to deflect his words, they still manage to rattle me.

I sigh and go to the lounge room. It's pretty busy, and there is a lot of chatter as I sit down in the corner, in a little armchair by the window. Looking out of the window, I watch the clouds. I don't know if it's a comfort or a terrifying thought, that, even without you in it, the world continues to exist and the earth still rotates and the sun still shines.

Comforting, I suppose, in a way. When I leave, everything will have changed. I'm sure technology will change, and attitudes too. Everything keeps changing and you can't do anything about it. I especially can't. Change is something we all cope differently with. It's the people who can't cope – the people like me – who end up pushed aside and locked up away from the progressive world to rot or flourish in their new environment.

The question is: will I rot, or will I flourish?

I shake the thought of rotting (which always makes me think of my poor mother, alone in the ground) out of my head and look around the room. A couple of familiar faces are dotted around the room. Bella and Edward, the couple from the cafeteria, sit closely on the loveseat on the other side of the room, looking completely wrapped up in one another.

I don't watch them for very long. He looks half-dead and she looks three quarters dead, and the purple rings under their eyes along with the blank expressions on their faces make it hard to watch without wincing. I wonder what everyone back at home is doing, with a slightly jaded view of them all.

My father, I'm sure, would be carrying on as normal, buttering up his new wife with a thousand compliments that she has to buy with physical affection. My little sister is probably at school, or home, playing. Of course, my mother is still dead. So who's left? No-one, really. I didn't go out much back home. Before my mother died, I was too worried to leave her, though she frequently left me to do errands because she didn't believe my warnings, and afterwards, people acted as if I was the cause of her death. I was the cursed girl, the girl who could hex you with a warning glance across the street.

Now I'm just one crazy person in a sea of them, all trying to stay afloat without really knowing how to swim.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts by a loud crash from the other side of the room. I only realize it's Emmett when I see Rosalie putting her hand on his arm. Her facial expression doesn't give much away, but her thumb still brushes over the bare skin on his arm comfortingly. It seems to have little to no effect as Emmett roars at the doctor by his side. I can't make out his words – they're not clear or coherent, by the sounds of it – and it's quite painful to watch. Eventually, the orderlies come in with their sinister injections of some unidentified sedative and the beast that was once Emmett is quietened, and then dragged away somewhere where he can be monitored. Rosalie watches the whole time, her face a picture of powerless despair. It was only when he was out of the room that she left, and I follow behind her quietly.

When we both reach our room, I sit on my bed and she perches at her dressing table, staring blankly ahead. "Are you alright?" I ask her tentatively, leaning to see her face more clearly. "That must've been hard to watch."

"If I was alright, I wouldn't be here, would I?" Rosalie whispers, still not looking at me. Her chin trembled for a moment, her bottom lip wobbling precariously on the edge of tears. She takes a shaky breath and closes her eyes. "He gets so…angry. Angry isn't enough. He's infuriated. Ruled by his temper."

I watch her as she shakes her head, unwilling to give anything more away. She looks utterly devastated, and I want to hug her. But I don't want to lose an eye, so I stay put on the bed. "Did…" I start, peeking a look at her to gauge her reaction, "Did he give you that black eye?"

Rosalie's head snaps up and she glares at me. "Emmett would _never_ hurt me. Don't try to understand what you never will."

"Understand what?" I ask. Rosalie nibbles at her thumbnail, for the first time looking vulnerable and small instead of tall and powerful. It was a stark contrast from the Rosalie I thought I'd got to know over the past week. A tear slips down her flawless skin and she wipes it away viciously.

"Our love." Rosalie spits out venomously. "You don't hurt the people you love." I shrug my shoulders at her, and raise my eyebrows.

"Love and hate are not mutually exclusive, you know." I bite my lip and shake my own head. "I know that you can love someone while hating them at the same time."

"So do I." Rosalie breathes, losing herself in the moment for a second. Her face loses its clouded expression in less than a second and I don't get to appreciate her true feelings before the mask is firmly back on her face. "But Emmett did not do that to me. He wouldn't."

"Okay," I say finally. "I believe you."

"First person who's said that in a long time." Rosalie says angrily. "They think I'm a liar, you know."

"I don't think lying is the problem." I admit, picking at the skin on my hands as a nervous habit that I never managed to break. "I think telling the truth and not being believed is."

"Would you believe me if I told you I understand that?" Rosalie asks me.

"Yes," I lie. "Would you?"

Rosalie nods and I pretend not to notice her fingers crossed behind her back.

At lunch time, we decide to go to the cafeteria. By we, I mean Rosalie. I could stay in my room all day, if they'd let me. But I think all Rosalie wants to do is take her mind off of Emmett, who is still stuck in the seclusion room, and so I go with her, trailing a few steps behind.

As we walk, I think about Rosalie's eye and if I believe her. I don't get much of a chance to wonder beyond the starting point because I'm joined by Jasper, who puts his arm around me as we walk. Rosalie turns and glares at the both of us as I try to shrug him off. "Don't you wanna grab some lunch with me, sweetheart?" He asks me.

Rosalie narrows her eyes further and steps towards the both of us menacingly. "Don't you wanna keep those arms, _sweetheart?"_

Jasper simply laughs her off. "I'm not sure about that, if I can't put them around Alice's shoulders. But…if she doesn't like it, then of course I'll do the gentlemanly thing and walk nicely next to her." He releases his grip on me and walks next to me. Rosalie rolls her eyes but continues to walk towards the cafeteria. "So now I'm a gentleman?"

I look up at him. "No. But you'll do." He edges closer once again and I shake my head. "Too close, cowboy."

Again, he laughs. "Too close for today. But we'll try again tomorrow." I roll my eyes as he ambles away, keeping eye contact the whole time. I catch up with Rosalie, who is now a few steps ahead.

"He's nauseating."

I smile at her and look to my feet. "He's not so bad." I shrug. Rosalie gives me a sympathetic look.

"Oh, honey. I knew he'd get to you. I don't know what it is about that boy – everyone seems to love him." She shakes her head. "He _is_ pretty cute. But nonetheless – he calls everyone sweetheart, so don't believe him when he tries to charm you."

She leaves me without a response and sits down in the cafeteria. After a beat, I join her, and pick at my food. I sense that Rosalie is watching me but I don't look up or say anything. After a few moments, she sighs and puts her fork down. "Look, I didn't mean anything by what I said. I just don't want you falling for him when he's quite clearly trouble."

"I know." I tell her, finally looking up. I don't really want to talk about it, so I decide to change tack. "When is your friend visiting?" I know I've hit the right chord when her face lights up and she smiles brightly at me, leaning forward.

"Oh, Vera, she's coming on Wednesday," she says, her blue eyes twinkling. "I hope she brings the baby. I haven't seen him in such a long time. Such a sweet little thing, he is." Her cheeks are flushed and she's the happiest I've seen her. "I've missed her so much."

"It must be nice to have your friend visit." When I say this, I realize the truth in Dr Cullen's words earlier this morning. It's so easy to slip into a loneliness without even realizing how alone you are, even in a crowded room. Rosalie's eyes crinkle and she sighs, looking to her hands.

"I'm sure…I'm sure after a few visits she'll be your friend, too." My cheeks flush and I shake my head, stumbling over the right words to say.

"Oh, um, that wasn't what I was trying to do. She's your friend, not mine," I ramble, feeling my face getting red.

"Come on, Alice. She can be your friend too, I'm sure. Everyone is always telling me that I have to share my toys. And Vera? She's just a _doll."_ Rosalie's face once again takes on the dreamy expression it wore a few moments ago. "Not to mention little Henry!" I feel a genuine smile creeping onto my face as Rosalie talks about the baby, reminiscing about how he was when she saw him last and wondering aloud if he'd be walking yet. Her face clouds for a moment as she stops to take a breath. "I hope Emmett is well enough to see them both. He's so good with Henry…a gentle giant."

Surprisingly, I don't have a hard time believing her. Whatever the problem is with his temper, Emmett is unexpectedly gentle in most other aspects. I've seen the way he holds Rosalie's delicate hands in his own, and how he spoke to his little brothers when they visited a few days ago. My cheeks burn red as I remember doubting him and thinking that he could have been the cause of Rosalie's black eye. I attempt a comforting smile, but I'm not sure it has the desired effect as Rosalie picks at her food. "I'm sure he'll be okay by the morning."

After lunch, there's generally nothing to do. I suggest to Rosalie that we play cards in the lounge, and she accepts this. While it's not accepted with a smile, she doesn't glare at me, either, so I take it as a success. I deal out the cards and she picks them up, lazily shuffling through them. She sighs at her hand and raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me. "I remember why I don't play cards now."

I laugh at her and lay down the first card. After about five minutes of playing, I notice that a boy in the corner is watching me intently. I remember him from Jasper's description, but this time he isn't with his girlfriend. I pick up a card and start to put it down when he shakes his head at me. After the first time, he continues to do this with shakes and nods until the game is over and I have won. I hide the smirk from my face as Rosalie grows more and more impatient, convinced that I'm rigging the deck somehow.

It's only once the game is over and Rosalie has stalked off to paint her nails, bored and frustrated by not winning a single game that I consider how Edward even knew how I could win. He was sitting too far away to see Rosalie's cards and he couldn't see mine because I was facing him, so how did he help me win every game?

I wait until Rosalie has left and then I join him in his corner, giggling as I thank him for helping me win. He smiles at me, looking a lot less departed than he did earlier in the day, and he shakes his head. "It's okay. She needed taking down a peg or two."

"Oh, no, Rosalie's not so bad." I giggle again, remembering how she'd thrown her cards down on the table and left, branding the game a fix. "It _was_ pretty funny, though. She's stormed off to paint her nails, but she'll get over it pretty soon. Doubt she'll play cards with me for a while, though," I frown. "How did you do it? Help me win, I mean? You couldn't see my hand and I'm sure Rosalie was too far away from you for you to see."

He flinches at my question but doesn't answer straight away. It's almost as if he's considering his answer as he still continues to smile at me. Finally, he shrugs, looking up at me. "How do you tell the future?"

 ** _A/N:_**

 ** _Hey guys! I'm trying to write the next chapter as I write this one...got a few hours before I go out. How would you feel about seeing Christmas at the asylum? I feel like that would be interesting. Anyways...enjoy and please review. It was my birthday last week so it can be my present from you :P_**


	5. Oh If You Knew

A million thoughts run through my mind as I run through the hallways to my room. The door slams as loud as my heart beats as I swing it shut behind me, leaning back against it and breathing heavily. I try to catch my breath as I think about how he could possibly know. Dr Cullen _promised_ me. He told me that everything I told him, that everything on my file, would be confidential.

Why on earth did I think I could trust him? He's just like everybody else – a liar with a need to get inside my head. My balled up fists shake with anger and trepidation and I almost forget about Rosalie's existence. As always, though, she finds a way to get herself centred in all of the action, and kneels next to me on the floor.

"Oh, sweetie…what happened?" To my surprise, she sounds half genuine, and I look up at her with a tear stained face. "Come, sit," she says, patting the pink comforter on the end of her bed. I follow her, her gentle hands guiding my back to her bed, and perch on the end of the bed. "What happened?" She repeats. I trace the rose patterns on her silky sheets and think about what happened. If I tell her, she'll think I'm even crazier than she'd originally believed. If I don't…well, the same applies. I just shake my head and she nods, seeming to understand. "Yeah, I get it. Just one of those days, huh? Well…" she looks at me, her face still not showing any empathy, though her words and actions seem to contradict this. "Want me to paint your nails?"

I nod miserably, and she brightens. I figure that painting someone's nails takes some concentration, I don't want to talk, and I get the feeling that Rosalie misses having someone to manicure so it's a win-win situation. Rosalie busies herself by picking out a color, noting happily that she thinks it'll go beautifully with my skin tone.

She sits next to me, her perfume permeating my senses in an overwhelming way that I welcome. Anything to stop my thoughts from running away from me. I reach out a trembling hand that she takes in her own and try not to think about what happened. Her perfect hands grip mine and delicately paint a pink polish on my nails, looking startlingly childlike for the first time as she tries not to go over the lines on my nails.

Ten painstakingly painted nails later, Rosalie sits back to admire her work. "There! You look presentable now. I think it's important to always look your best." Her face softens as she sighs. "My mother always told me that elegance is timeless; that I should always smile and step into those dresses even if I felt like the world was caving in. And so when my world _was_ caving in, I had weekly manicures and my hair was always curled perfectly…" Her eyes flicker back to me. "As long as the outside is pleasing to the eye, no-one will bat an eyelid to as what your demons are fighting over on the inside. Because no matter what anyone says, sweetie, everyone in this place – not just us, the nurses, the doctors, even those celebrities with the beautiful smiles – has demons. It just takes one person to come along and coax them out, to rattle the skeletons in your closet like you do with a dog and a box of treats, to bring them out."

A discontented sigh escapes from her lips before she has the chance to stop it and she shakes her head. In a voice not dissimilar to her own, but with a distinctly different tone, Rosalie says, "Elegance is timeless, my dear. Smile and spin in those pretty dresses even when the world is collapsing above your head."

And so with a head held high, and nails marked with war paint, I head to the cafeteria, the heels I borrowed from Rosalie signalling my arrival to everyone. The illusion I've built comes under scrutiny from the watchful eyes of these people. I see a few friendly faces dotted around. Esme smiles at me, her still tearstained face looking a little brighter for seeing a familiar face. I smile at give her a little wave, and search the cafeteria for an empty seat. As always, my luck seems to be non-existent. The only seat I see that isn't filled or next to someone who looks like they could kill me with their stare is next to the one and only Jasper Whitlock. I sigh. As I step closer into the room, his head snaps up, and he spots me instantly. I smile weakly and he raises his eyebrow, watching me as I cross the room to sit across from him.

When I sit down, he surprises me with a concerned expression. "What's the matter?" He asks instantly.

"What do you mean?" I ask, a frown forming on my lips. He still looks unhappy about something, and he leans closer. This time, I don't lean away from him, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"You're upset about something." He says, the fact clearly upsetting him, too. Working himself up, he shakes his head. "You're upset about something and you've never been upset around me before."

"I kicked you in the shin the other day." I remind him, trying to not show that he's correct, and that I really am upset about what happened with Edward earlier. "So I think I have been upset around you."

"No," he persists. "You were angry, but even then not really." He frowns again, and repeats, "What's wrong?"

"I'm okay," I tell him, squeezing his hand absentmindedly. He holds my hand in his own and I smile at him, feeling calm and happy to be cared about for once. "Okay?"

He still looks uncertain, but he nods reluctantly, his façade fallen at his feet as he looks like a lost little boy, miles away from the confident cowboy I'd had the displeasure of getting to know over the course of my stay. I resist the urge to stroke his hair, pushing down the need to run my fingers through his honey blond messy hair. He looks at me with a small smile, still looking somewhat unsettled but clearly trying to push it down. "You like pancakes?"

"No," I say. "But I like French toast." He grins at me, and for the first time I feel as if it's genuine and not calculated for some ulterior motive. He stands, taking up the challenge.

"Then you'll have French toast," he smiles as he leaves, leaving me on my own with my thoughts for company. I fight back a smile as he watches me from across the room, clearly trying to psychoanalyse me. I'm not having that. Something about him makes me want to be closer to him, but I have a doctor that gets inside my head enough without having random people doing it too.

I stick my tongue out at him. His first reaction is one of surprise and then he laughs unreservedly, throwing his head back and looking like he belongs in a magazine, not a hospital. His nose scrunches up adorably as he laughs one final time and he nods a thank you to the chef before returning to me with a plate of French toast and of course, a stack of pancakes. He drops the plate in front of me and sits, stabbing one of his pancakes with his fork.

"Thank you," I tell him, nibbling at the side of one of the slices. "You didn't have to do that." Jasper shrugs his shoulders, his mouth full of pancakes.

"I know."

When Jasper had eaten half of his pancakes, and I had one slice of French toast left, I heard the doors of the cafeteria open and slam against the wall in a way that only one person ever opened them. Shortly after, I heard an: "Oops," as Emmett once again forget his own strength.

"Doofus." Rosalie's voice rang out loud and clear, and a wave of perfume mingled with the smell of food in the room. I heard Emmett's booming laugh get closer and closer as the couple slide down to sit with us. Rosalie eyes my French toast and raises her eyebrow. For once, she has some sense of tact and gives me a look that plainly means while she'll leave it for now, she's definitely not dropping it.

"Hi," I say in a small voice. I smile at Emmett. "Feeling better?" Emmett nods, hitting my arm lightly in thanks.

"I'm good," he beams at me. His expression changes as he glances at Jasper to one of disdain. "What about you?" I know what the true question is; why are you sitting with him?

I ignore his true intentions and smile sweetly, at both him and Jasper. "I'm okay." Jasper looks at me, unconvinced. Rosalie raises an eyebrow also, and I watch the two blonde beauties contemplate my every micro-expression. "I'm good." I insist. Emmett shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly and takes a bite from his apple, screwing up his face in disgust.

"Where can you get some real food around here?" He grumbles, mostly to himself as he continues to chew. Tearing another chunk off of the apple, he shakes his head. "All I get is rabbit food."

Rosalie frowns at him and sips her water daintily, her manicured nails tapping steadily on the glass. "Do you ever stop thinking about food?" She says tonelessly, glancing at him for a moment and shaking her head.

"Of course," he grins, taking the drink from her hands and taking a swig from it. "Sometimes I think about drink, too. Would prefer something stronger, if I'm honest."

"Yes, well, you know how I feel about alcohol." Rosalie retorts harshly, snatching back her drink. Her jaw clenches as she grinds her teeth. Noticing my stare, Rosalie puts on a seemingly false show of bravado, lifting one of her eyebrows to the sky. "Empty calories."

"Right." I sense that any further probing into the subject would probably get my head bitten off, so I leave it at that and glance at Jasper. He smiles at me and for a fleeting moment he looks so genuine and sweet. That moment passes invariably quickly and he stands. "Where are you going?" I ask, trying not to sound concerned or particularly interested. My tone gives myself away, and he gives me a cheeky smile, the corners of his mouth quirking up as he saunters away, clearly pleased with himself.

"Paying a visit to Carlisle." He sighs and raises his eyebrows at me. "I swear; he's obsessed with me." I roll my eyes and lean forwards, my chin resting on my hands.

"Oh, really," I ask. Jasper laughs easily, something I wish I could do more. "Enjoy your visit. Don't forget to talk about me."

"No danger of that happening. You're quite unforgettable, darlin'." My cheeks tinge crimson as he winks at me and he smiles as he walks away, looking so effortlessly cool. As I turn back around, I'm faced with two judgemental faces glaring back at me. Well, Emmett never glares and Rosalie's too afraid of frown-lines to really show her anger, but the atmosphere turns frosty and Emmett's eyes follow Jasper as he leaves the room in a disapproving way.

"I told you," Rosalie says brusquely, her hair flipping as she stares coolly at me, "You shouldn't trust him."

"I don't have to trust him to talk to him," I reply, stung by her words. I'm old enough to look after myself without her help. How does she think I've coped for the past 17 years of my life?

"I know. But you're falling for him. And be warned, sweetie; everything that falls is bound to break." With that, Rosalie sips her water as if nothing has happened, and watches the world go by without a care. Emmett doesn't say anything but his expression clearly tells me that his opinion doesn't differ from Rosalie's own harsh views. I sigh.

"I hear you've been cheating at cards," Emmett says in an attempt to lighten the mood, elbowing Rosalie gently in the side. She rolls her eyes.

"I don't know how, but she cheated somehow. I'm telling you," Rosalie insists haughtily. "Somehow she outsmarted me."

I smile weakly. "Beginner's luck."

As I'm leaving the cafeteria, my arm is caught by someone's hand and I spin, ready to tug my arm away. When I see Edward, my first instinct is to walk away.

"Don't!" Edward whispers harshly, looking around worriedly as his grip on my arm tightens. I squirm, trying to tug my arm away as he flounders, trying to string a sentence together. He looks horrified at my discomfort, and immediately lets go of my arm. I rub at the red hand print and he exhales, sounding like every breath is an effort. "I'm sorry for…scaring you." He manages, his eyebrows knitted together.

"You think I'm crazy," I whisper, shaking my head. "I'm not crazy."

"You're as sane as I am." He replies, finally looking more relaxed. That doesn't reassure me; he's in a mental institution and so his sanity, much like my own, is very much in question. "And I'm _not_ crazy," he adds quickly, seeing my expression.

"Some people would dispute that." I bite my lip. "I'm not saying it's true – what you said about me, I mean – but…who told you that?"

"No-one," he says, frowning. "Don't you see?" He lowers his voice. "I know it's true. I hear voices."

I step back slightly, biting my nail and frowning. So he is crazy. He shakes his head. "I'm not. I'm not crazy, I know what you're thinking. That was a bad way of wording it. I can know what people are thinking…I always have been able to. Ever since.."

"Ever since?" I prompt. He swallows, clearly finding something hard to tell me, or to even speak about, and clears his throat.

"Ever since my parents died," he says finally. "It was a car accident."

I put my hand up and stop him for a moment. "You don't have to tell me," I say softly, "I get it."

"No," he says, "I want to tell you. You'd understand," he insists. I nod.

"Okay, but sit down with me." We walk together to the habitually empty living room and sit down on the sofa. He looks at me earnestly, looking small and vulnerable. "Go on," I encourage, offering what I hope is a kind smile.

"It was summer, and I was fifteen. Four years ago now," he sighs, trying to recall the past. "We were going on a road-trip, seeing all of the states. I complained for weeks. I wanted to spend the summer with my friends – I had hoped to join the basketball team when school started again and spending three months with my parents travelling the country sounded like hell.

"It wasn't raining when we left. It only started about three hours into our trip. My parents were trying to talk to me, trying to get me to appreciate that…that they wouldn't always be there to do this with me." He takes a shaky breath and continues, "I had my earphones in. I wasn't listening. We had argued before we left. I said things I shouldn't." He shakes his head and composes himself, looking to the floor. "We were going fast, but not over the limit. The storm started quickly and didn't look like it was going to let up. Mom turned to me and smiled, and she looked so excited to be starting this new adventure. I didn't smile back. Before she could turn back around, the car was spinning out of control. I saw her face change, into an expression of horror." His voice tapers off, thick with emotion.

"There was a lot of noise. Metal scraping. It was deafening; I thought I was going to die. I closed my eyes as my mom started screaming and crying, yelling at my dad to get the car under control. It was no use. It just kept spinning…no-one could see us; the rain was so heavy. It came down so fast, so heavy. A truck hit the side of our car. The last thing I remember is tasting blood and thinking that nothing would be the same again. When I woke up, there was blood in my eyes…there was blood _everywhere._ My dad was crushed under some metal. I knew he was dead. Nothing would have saved him. He had one hand on the wheel, the other in my mother's hand." He closes his eyes and tears spill down my own cheeks, so he must be feeling utterly defeated. "She never turned back around. She died watching me, her other hand reaching out for me. I…I just hope that my mother died knowing that I loved her. I should have never said those things."

"She knew," I tell him, my own voice filled with emotion.

"I waited for what seemed like hours. They took me to the hospital, and some doctor told me that I was an orphan, but that I was going to be okay. As he turned, I heard him say that I didn't stand a chance. When I yelled out at him, he told me that he never said a word. After that, they examined my head. Scans, X-rays…you name it. I was labelled as paranoid, as damaged…I soon learned that what I was hearing were thoughts, not voices." He shakes his head. "In some way, I thought it was a gift from my parents to give me a head-start in life. Instead, I end up here." He shakes his head. "I didn't mean to scare you, Alice. I just…I miss them."

"I know," I tell him, my eyes softening as I watch him rock back and forth, the tears finally flowing down his cheeks in a waterfall of long-due emotion. And despite feeling utterly exhausted, and shy, and still half afraid of this boy, it was in my arms, silently sobbing, that he would spend the rest of the night.

 **A/N:**

 **There will be a Christmas themed chapter next chapter…hopefully before everyone has forgotten about Christmas but definitely not before the real thing.**

 **This was a little insight into Edward…I hope you enjoyed.**


	6. The Bells Ring Out

"I want to talk about Christmas," Dr Cullen says, at the beginning of my first session of the week with him. "About what it means to you, how you celebrated at home, and how we do things around here." He smiles brightly, waiting for my response. I don't say anything.

Instead, I blink at him, confused. "Christmas?"

Dr Cullen frowns, and quickly shuffles through my papers, scanning a page that means nothing to me. He nods, seemingly pleased with what he read, and continues. "Yes, Christmas. It says here you celebrated it, when you were at home."

"Well, I do." If you can call _that_ misery Christmas, I think, my mind wandering back to last Christmas when I was once again being called a witch and despised by seemingly everyone. "But why are we talking about Christmas?" I shake my head, feeling as confused as Dr Cullen looks.

"Alice, it's the 24th of December." This news seems to jolt me awake, and I sit up properly, looking at Dr Cullen.

"The 24th?" I echo, trying and failing to not let the confusion be written all over my face. "Of December?" I shake my head again. I cast my mind back, and am reminded of Rosalie's excited talk of presents when her friend, Vera, visits once again. I remember not really paying that much attention to her words. "Alright," I say finally, passive to the idea of a discussion. Dr Cullen smiles, his expression full of festivity.

"Most of the patients currently residing celebrate Christmas, so we tend to celebrate on a larger scale," he begins, leaning forward. "Morning will mostly be the same as usual, though the cafeteria staff tend to make a bit more of an effort." I nod, showing that I'm listening to him, though I don't comment. "After breakfast, there's visitors and family time." Dr Cullen pauses to let his words sink in. I try to not react to them, but I think the hurt shows on my face regardless. "That takes us to lunch, where normal service resumes for everyone until dinner, where the festivities start up. Okay?"

I nod again. "Okay."

"I didn't want it to be a surprise to you," he explains, his forehead creasing. "There has been a lot of change for you and whilst Christmas here probably won't be anything like at home, I hope that you still see a reason to celebrate. Not everything is lost, Alice."

"Not all those who wander are lost," I comment. Dr Cullen smiles and raises his eyebrows. I manage a small smile back at him.

"Quite," he replies. "Now, for today's session…"

After my session with Dr Cullen, I find myself back at the spot where I always seem to wander back to – the corner of the cafeteria. Something about the shrouded corner offers me a protection of some kind and sitting there gives me a chance to reflect back on the session and what Dr Cullen has said.

I don't know where anyone else is, and my eyes scan the room for a familiar face. Eventually, my gaze settles on Esme, who's sitting in a corner of her own, looking, as usual, like the weight of the world was crushing her. It's so difficult not to feel haunted when you look at her – there's no light in her life and yet shadows still follow her around, forever forcing her to relive every bad memory.

I stand and join her. As I sit, she takes my hands. For someone so desperately grief-stricken, she's surprisingly tactile and often gives me her hand or takes mine in her own. She manages a smile for me, and I muster up the energy to do the same. After all, it's probably a thousand times harder for her to smile than it is for me, no matter how exhausting I find everything.

"Alice," she breathes, the smile still present. "How are you?" I shrug my shoulders at her question.

"It's Christmas." I respond. I'm not sure why; Esme makes things seem easier to say, easier to admit somehow.

"Almost," Esme corrects. She struggles with her own words, and I feel bad for ever bringing it up. "I suppose your family will come and visit you tomorrow?"

I press my lips into a thin line, shaking my head. "No. No, I don't think there's much of a chance." Esme nods, understanding as always. "Will your family?"

"I haven't seen my family in years," Esme says, her voice leaving no lingering trace of regret in her words. "I don't suppose this will be the year they decide to pay me a visit."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I shouldn't have asked." Esme smiles at me again, looking at me with a wan expression.

"I'm a big girl, Alice. Big enough to be okay with answering questions." Though she had previously told me she was in her thirties, Esme didn't look it at all. Sitting in front of me, her skinny shoulders hunched, she looked in her twenties at most.

"And big girls don't cry?" I ask, almost teasingly. Esme shakes her head.

"Far from it," she sighs. "But I'm working on that. With Carlisle." A dreamy expression clouds her features. "Isn't he lovely?"

"Dr Cullen?" I ask uncertainly. Esme nods. "He's fine…for a doctor."

"Oh, Alice, don't be so cynical." Esme scolds, shaking her head and looking almost normal. "He's a lovely man. How can he not be, when he devotes his life to helping others?" She looks at me imploringly. "You meet so few truly kind people in this world, sweetheart – those who you do meet, cling onto them. You never know when you'll need a helping hand. Do you understand?"

I smile at her genuinely this time, and for the first time, I take her hand first. "I do."

That night, after listening to Rosalie's musings about her day, Emmett, Dr Cullen and everything in between, I dream about my last Christmas with my mother, about the softness of her well wishes and the happiness splashed all over my little sister's face.

When I wake up, there's a smile on my face and I can almost feel the calmness in the air that doesn't often happen around here. Craziness and loss is usually the predominant feeling in these dorms, but something is different this morning. Maybe it's the whisper of winter in the air that calms things, but the stillness points to something more. It can only be described as Christmas.

I tip-toe out of bed, careful not to disturb Rosalie, who probably only fell asleep less than an hour ago, and reach into my top drawer of my dresser. Last night, after my meeting with Esme, I had thought a lot about Christmas.

When I was still at home, one of my favorite parts about Christmas was buying gifts for everyone. Missing out on that made it feel a lot less like Christmas, so I decided to at least design cards for all of the people in here that made my stay less depressing, heeding Esme's warning of clinging onto those who meant something to me. When people didn't think I was a witch, there was always someone asking me to design their child's birthday card with all the things that they loved. It had always made me smile, and I always looked at my mother's own handmade card to me while doing so.

I pull the cards from the drawer and leave one by Rosalie's bedside. Though I don't make any noise, her blue eyes snap open instantly. Her eyes flicker from me to the card and a small smile settles on her features as she sits up, her legs slipping out from under the covers so she faces me as she takes in all the drawings on the front.

Her red nail traces over Snow White's magic mirror, over the high heel stiletto that sits in the corner. A small laugh escapes from her lips as she strokes Vera and Henry's picture, drawn from the photograph she so proudly displays on her own mirror. Her eyes scan over the picture of the couple at the bottom, foreheads pressed together, as she whispers her and Emmett's name.

"Oh, Alice," she says, opening the card and reading the generic "Merry Christmas" message inside. "This is so lovely."

"You like it?" I ask shyly.

"I love it. It's beautiful." She stands, and encases me in a quick hug. It's awkward for both of us, but I wrap my arms around her and she does the same. We pull away and Rosalie smiles at me, and delves into her own drawer. She retrieves a small present, wrapped in purple and blue with a cute silver bow on top, and hands it to me. "I hope you like this half as much as I liked your card."

I twirl the ribbon around my fingers and smile at her. "How…?" I ask. Rosalie laughs and winks at me, still so enchanting even without make-up or airs and graces.

"I have my ways. Open it," she insists, her eyes bright. I smile and carefully unwrap the gift, ripping the paper away. Under the paper lies a manicure set, complete with pink nail polish. Rosalie touches my arm gently, which surprises me, and smiles. "Manicures make everything better."

"Thank you, Rosalie," I say genuinely, feeling pretty touched by the surprisingly personal gift. I smile at her and she busies herself with getting dressed, as I do.

Once we're both dressed, I follow Rosalie to the cafeteria for breakfast, armed with the rest of my cards in my bag. She immediately spots Emmett in our usual seat and rushes up to him. I follow behind, more slowly.

"Merry Christmas, babe," he says, teasingly holding up a mistletoe. She giggles and presses her lips to his for a moment.

"Merry Christmas." She replies, putting her arm around him. Emmett smiles at me, gesturing for me to sit and join them.

"Merry Christmas, Alice," Emmett grins. He hands me a polaroid picture of the two of us, a sweet "Merry Xmas" message scribbled across the front. "Just so you can always see my face!"

I laugh and him and then hand him his card. His expression changes to shocked as he takes in the card and he gives me a bear hug. It truly is a bear hug, too, because of the height difference between us. "Thank you," he says finally, entwining his fingers with Rosalie's hand.

"Merry Christmas." I say, smiling at him.

Before I begin eating, I look around the room for Esme. Of all the cards I drew, this is the one I'm most apprehensive about giving away. I sit beside her and she smiles tiredly. Again, I repeat the same merry message to her and she chimes "Merry Christmas" back to me like she's on auto-pilot.

I hand the card over to her hesitantly, and her expression changes. I've piqued her interest and she daintily runs her hand over the card. I see a tear spill from her eye to the page and she wipes it quickly away, trying her best not to make a smudge. "Are you alright?" I whisper, attempting not to garner any attention. Esme pulls the card to her chest.

"You remembered what he looked like," she murmurs, her hair falling in front of her face. She shows me the card, pointing to the picture of the angel-winged baby cherub on the front. "His little nose."

"Of course I remembered him," I reply. When we first met, Esme had told me about her little boy. She had shown me the picture in her locket, the one she wears around her neck all of the time. She opens the locket, undoing the chain and placing the photo next to the picture. I smile. It's so difficult not to smile when faced with a picture of a baby, and Esme's little boy, although no longer with us, is no exception. "I hope I haven't upset you with the card. I wanted to show you that I understood what you told me."

Esme smiles at me. "Upset? Darling, you've made me smile when I didn't think I'd ever be able to again." Her eyes well up, but she looks at me with a bright expression on her features. "Don't let them dull your sparkle, Alice. Promise me." She lowers her voice and looks at me worriedly. "You haven't been here long but trust me…some of the people here are _not_ to be trusted."

"We're all crazy." I shrug, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Esme shakes her head, biting her lip.

"Not the patients!" She hisses. I flinch at her suddenly harsh tone and she looks at me sheepishly. "The doctors…the orderlies," she insists. "Be careful."

While I'm still not sure what she means, I nod like I do, and go back to join Rosalie and Emmett, who are deep in conversation. When I sit, the conversation halts and they stare at me, waiting for some response. Emmett pushes a plate towards me, a slice of cinnamon cake and a stack of pancakes. "We got you breakfast," he tells me unnecessarily. I wrap my hands around my cup of coffee, and nod.

"This is breakfast?" I ask, poking the cake with my fork. "It's cake." I wrinkle my nose at the scent of cinnamon in the air and break off some of the pancake. "I don't like cinnamon." Emmett shrugs and stabs at the cake with his own fork, finishing the slice in a couple of bites.

"I do!" He laughs, cheerful as ever. "So, Ali, where's your boyfriend?" He asks me, his mouth still full of crumbs. Rosalie rolls her eyes and focuses her attention on her own coffee, looking like everything was an effort for her. It probably was – if I survived on her sleep, I'd be exhausted too.

I raise my eyebrow at him. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Well, he's a boy and he's your friend, right?" Emmett insists, like I'm a little kid whose parents are trying to wind her up. I frown at him.

"I don't know where Jasper is." I tell him honestly. Just as I say this, a voice whispers in my ear, making my heart pound almost out of my chest.

"Merry Christmas, Alice," Jasper whispers, sliding down next to me. I try to get my heartrate back down as I stare at him, a glare on my face. "Sorry, did I scare you?" For a moment, he looks like he really cares. And then he ruins it. "You should see someone for that anxiety."

"Thanks for the heads up." I remark sarcastically. "But Merry Christmas." Even though he's the most frustrating person I think I've ever met, I still want to give him his card. I glance at Rosalie and Emmett, who have now gone back to whispering between themselves, and gesture for Jasper to follow me. I walk to the living room, which as always, is pretty much abandoned. A nurse sits outside the door, obliged to keep an eye on both of us. I sit in the corner of the room, out of view of everyone, and Jasper curiously sits down next to me. I reach into my bag and hand him the card. He regards the paper warily, like it's going to bite him, before he properly looks at it. As he does, his facial expression softens.

"Wow." He says. That's all he offers me, and he stares at me.

"What?" I ask, feeling self-conscious as he watches me. He shakes his head, his blond hair falling in front of his eyes.

"You know," he says, finally, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand, which he just took, "Usually people listen, but they don't really get me." I roll my eyes at his melodrama but inside, I do understand. He laughs softly at my eye roll, and shakes his head. Reaching into his own pocket, he pulls out a tiny box.

"What..?" I ask, as he hands it to me. What is it with people in here and always being allowed more than me? Who do I have to talk to, to get smuggled Christmas presents? I shake my head as I open the tiny box. Inside is a tiny charm, a little bottle. "For my bracelet." I say, finally understanding. I touch my bracelet carefully. My mother gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday, and I've carefully added charms to it with things that make me happy.

"For when you're feeling small," Jasper tells me, dropping the charm into my open palm. I look at it properly. It's the bottle from Alice in Wonderland, the little "Drink Me" potion. I feel so touched I could almost cry. I could almost cry from the confusion this boy puts me through on a regular basis, too.

"You noticed my bracelet, and you smuggled that in here God knows how just to make me smile on Christmas." I say, exasperated. "And yet you're so frustrating at the same time. Make up your mind!"

Jasper simply laughs, putting the charm back into the box and closing my hand around it. "Let's go back," he suggests, pulling me up from my chair.

And though there's no indication that he wants me to, and despite there being no mistletoe above us, I kiss him.

When I pull away, his eyes are wide and he looks at me, stunned. For a moment, I swear he can hear my heart beating. He watches me, but doesn't say anything. When I lean in again, he still looks shocked, his stunned expression almost making me giggle. I don't kiss him again, and I don't giggle.

Instead, I simply whisper, "You should really see someone for that anxiety," before walking away again. The only sound that remains is the giggle that finally manages to escape from my lips and the pounding of my own heart in my ears.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

 **A/N:**

 **So, I know this is extremely later than Christmas but never mind! Obviously Christmas is for spending time with people so I was short on time and this week I've had my mock exams. I've just made time this morning to quickly write this before I have to leave so I hope you like it!**

 **Happy new year! :)**


	7. New Years, New Tears

"Three…two…one!" Carlisle counts down, his ever present smile still stuck to his features like a mask of happiness. Quite fitting, really, when everyone in here once wore a similar mask to hide what was really going on in their minds. "Happy new year, everyone."

A chorus of "happy new year" begins from all of the patients, and I find a seat in the busy room, trying to ignore the masses of people before it makes me too uncomfortable. Still, I can't help the smile that appears on my own face as I settle into a seat next to Rosalie. The magic of a new, fresh start always makes me feel warm and happy inside, no matter where I was. A new slate for everyone, three hundred and sixty-five days to do something amazing and to reinvent yourself.

Rosalie, on the other hand, looks indifferent to the whole situation, blankly staring ahead of herself. "Time is slipping away," she tells me, after a little while, "And I cannot do a thing about it." I try to think of something positive to say to her, but my thoughts flounder.

"It's not _slipping_ away," I say gently, "You're still living." She looks at me with a mix of disgust and pity in her harsh eyes, and shakes her head.

"Sometimes I wish I wasn't," she admits, unable to meet my eyes. Her head shakes once again and she nibbles at her thumbnail, an anxious expression clouding her normally serene features. She looks young, and vulnerable, and I fight the urge to give her a hug, because I know she'll probably impale me with something blunt and rusty if I do.

"Don't say that," I frown, focusing on her properly. "It's a new year, a new start…You could be out of here before you see the next new year." Rosalie scoffs at me, scorn colouring her tone as she corrects me harshly.

" _You_ could," she spits, still refusing to look me in the eyes as she rages on, "I'm never leaving. Don't you see?" Her voice begins to rise, and Dr Cullen glances our way. I avoid his eyes and try to speak to Rosalie in a calming tone.

"Rosalie, shh," I attempt to soothe her, my words having zero effect. "You're creating a scene." With these words, Rosalie's whole demeanour changes as she narrows her eyes at me.

"I'm _"creating a scene"?"_ Rosalie screeches, her voice almost echoing in the spacious room as she grows increasingly distressed. Carlisle's gaze fixes on the both of us as he motions for two orderlies to join him over to us. "I'm stuck here, rotting and wasting my youth, watching my beauty fade before my eyes, and I'm creating a scene? Of course I am! I'm dying but still alive and it's all because of _him!"_

Her finger points at Dr Cullen but he doesn't take this personally, instead quietly murmuring that "he understood" and that "it takes a while to get over a trauma". From this I gathered that while Dr Cullen was on the end of her finger, he was not to blame for her perceived injustice. She fights off the orderlies in a flurry of blonde hair and curse words and punches, though she still doesn't cry.

Rosalie is whisked away in a flurry of orderlies and doctors and Emmett watching with a pained expression on his face, his lips mouthing only one word: "Rosalie." I watch, my hand over my mouth, trying to contain my own emotion as everyone else in the room stares at me, seemingly the only cause of the scene, with blank, medicated expressions.

* * *

"So, what's your resolution?" I ask Esme over breakfast, as her always slightly tear filled eyes stare down at me.

"Mm…" Esme murmurs, giving her answer a consideration that far outweighed its importance. Finally, she smiles. "When I was young, I always used to write them. My mother told me that resolutions were important, because it's always important to better yourself. Then, when I realized that the only change in the amount of chocolate I was eating was the amount I told myself, I stopped."

"Then choose something real. Not chocolate, not "stop biting my nails." Something real." Esme looks at me coyly, her own short, bitten nails laid down in front of me. I give a small laugh and Esme rolls her eyes playfully.

"Then what's yours?" Esme asks me, a small smile still on her face.

"Not sure," I reply, taking the time to think about it carefully, like I advised Esme to do. "Move on from the past? Stop thinking of it, of all I've lost? Forget the past. Live in the moment," I finally settle on a resolution, something that fit the situation I was currently in. The only way I was getting out of here was by moving on, and living in the moment.

"No, no," Esme replies, her finger wagging in front of me. "Never forget the past, sweetheart. That's what makes you who you are. I don't ever want to forget my past, even if it causes me pain. No, it's fine to remember. It's fine to be upset, even. But what you mustn't let it do, is define your future."

"I suppose that's true," I say softly, thinking back to my own past, of my mother's hand in my own. I wonder if Esme knows how precious mothers are to children, as children are to mothers. I would give anything to see her again, to have her to rely on. "I can't remember her face," my voice wavers as I admit this, trying desperately to recall every detail of the life I left behind to live here. "I can remember how she sang to me. I can remember what she'd always say when I came home from school. But she's slipping away from me, just like every part of my old life. Maybe Rosalie's right..."

Esme sits up and stares at me. "I heard about your friend," she nods, her face turning into one of pity. "Poor girl. She seems tortured. One can only wonder why."

"I don't like to think about it." I lie, not wanting to discuss Rosalie's traumatic past. "She's terrified of fading into obscurity. Something tells her that she's unloved, or that she'll never be better, or leave."

"Well, it's a plausible fear. Being stuck in here. Someone says you're crazy, and you're put in a padded prison, stuffed with medication and told in therapy that it's not your fault, yet you're serving time for it. It's a strange world, Alice. Very strange, indeed."

I consider Esme's musings while I poke at my cereal, feeling sick as the sugary rings dissolve into an undistinguishable mush. "Bleh," I say, pushing my bowl away in an attempt to not let it turn my stomach.

"Happy New Year," Esme says, turning on a cheerful expression. I turn to see who she's greeting, and Jasper smirks at me from a height, and, as expected, carries his coveted plate of pancakes.

"Is it?" Jasper asks, winking at me. "I hadn't noticed." Esme doesn't let the confusion show on her face if she is confused, she only smiles again and gestures for him to sit.

"I'll leave you two to it," she smiles at me, though there's no way to really get any privacy in this place.

"Hey," I smile at him. He looks at me for a moment, an expression on his face that was hard to identify as any specific emotion.

"How are you?" He asks, his fingers drumming on the table. I put my hand over his to stop this annoying fidget, and smile.

"I'm okay, thanks…" I raise my eyebrow. "How are _you?"_ Jasper eyes me suspiciously, then, finally, nods in acknowledgement.

"I'm good. How's your friend? She out yet?" I shake my head. "Too bad. She'll probably have some bruises." He notes, as he picks at his pancakes, acting as if he hadn't said something awful.

"What?" I snap, my eyebrows knitting together. Jasper frowns at me, looking at me like I'm the one who just said something weird.

"Shh!" Jasper says harshly, and while I don't like his tone, which I show him through a scowl, I comply to his warning, because I'm a little afraid of what would happen if I didn't.

"Bruises?" I whisper, leaning closer to him. Jasper glances at me for a moment before continuing.

"Haven't you been in seclusion? Or been handled by the orderlies yet?" He asks impatiently. I shake my head. "Then never mind."

"Tell me," I plead, though no matter what I say, I can tell that Jasper won't change his mind. His stubborn nature and determined expression tells me that before I even have the chance to argue with him at all. "Why are you in such a bad mood today?" I finally snap, frowning at him. Jasper looks up at me, dark circles under his eyes, and for a moment his stare scares me.

"Because you're in a bad mood," he mumbles tiredly. "Cheer up." I roll my eyes at his sarcasm, though this is one of the few times that he actually sounded genuine.

"How can I "cheer up?" Don't be stupid. You just told me Rosalie is probably getting beaten." Jasper rolls his eyes at me, something that infuriates me greatly.

"I didn't say beaten. They're not going to give her a black eye." I raise my eyebrows.

"She's already had a black eye." I frown. I lower my voice. "Was that from…them?" Jasper shakes his head at me, swallowing a final piece of pancake.

"Doubt it. They stick to places you can't see," he replies, sighing as if talking was a tiring activity for him.

"Have…" I look at him, somewhat afraid of his answer, "Have they done anything to you?" He doesn't react at first, but his fingers drum on the table. I hold his hand and brush my thumb against the back of his hand.

"Not really," he admits finally, "Nothing major."

"Nothing major? That's not good enough!" Up until now, I thought that my feelings toward Jasper were mainly physical attraction – his honey blond hair and sparkly eyes had always distracted me from his actual personality (or, the one he tried to convey) but the outrage I felt on his behalf seems to contradict this. "What did they do?" I ask, my voice suddenly soft. Jasper gives a non-committal shrug and pulls his sleeve up carefully.

Scatters of cigarette burns are littered up his forearms, and I trace them carefully. He then lifts his hair up a little to show me another scar, a dent in the side of his temple. "That was from being pushed into the wall," he says casually, "I didn't want to go see Dr Cullen."

"Dr Cullen…" I ponder, "Does he know?"

Jasper shakes his head. "I don't think so. I told him it was from tripping over."

"What did he do?" I ask. Jasper raises his eyebrows, not looking particularly impressed with my version of the Spanish Inquisition.

"He changed my medication to one that didn't 'make me feel dizzy'." He states. "So no, I don't think he knows." Jasper shakes his head. "They're all crooked. But I don't think he has it in him to be like that."

"Good," I say quietly, mainly thinking about how Esme had sung praises about him. Jasper looks at me oddly, and I realize the weirdness of my words. "Well, not good, of course. But I'm glad he's not like that. People trust him."

"People trust the orderlies. Alice, I'm not, but there are some vulnerable people in this place. It's not right what's going on. He ought to have figured it out."

"Why can't you tell him?" I ask. "It's not fair to blame him when you won't tell him what's going on."

"I can't tell him anymore than you can. Do you hear? Don't say a word about it."

"Why?"

"Why? Because you'll end up in the same place as Rosalie, and on more meds that you can count. Then you'll be with them, and half dead. And you're a lot smaller than me and Rosalie." He says harshly. "Don't say a word."

His eyes stare down at me intensely, and for a moment, I feel almost scared. "I won't," I promise. I look down at my hands, and then have another thought. "Why can't you show him your burns? The scars?"

"Alice, on our files, it says we're crazy. Different forms of crazy, I'll grant you. But crazy nonetheless. And you know, generally crazy people don't particularly care about hurting themselves to get their own way. Cutting yourself isn't outside the realms of possibility. Besides, some people in here hurt themselves just because."

"You don't hurt yourself, do you?" I ask, my brow furrowing in worry. He pulls his hand back, seemingly only just realizing that he's still holding mine.

"No. Not in the conventional sense, anyway," he says mysteriously. I raise my eyebrows this time, and prompt for him to continue by gesturing with my hand. "I tend to want things I can't have. It's quite soul destroying."

So he has a soul.

"I can see why that would be the case." I state, and notice that my own fingers are drumming on the table this time. He looks down at my fingers and smirks.

"I'll bet you can."

* * *

"She's still there." Emmett says to me, his face forlorn and longing. His voice trails away at the end, as if he speaks only for her, and without her, the activity seems pointless. I offer a sympathetic smile and gesture for him to sit down. "I miss her." Emmett mumbles, his cheeks tingeing red.

"I know," I say, and, surprising myself, I say, "I miss her too." Since her meltdown this morning, Rosalie had spent her day in seclusion, while I spent the day with Esme and Jasper and, some of the time, alone. It was kind of nice, spending the day with no interruptions or people to justify myself to, though I wasn't lying; I really had missed her. Even her sarcasm. "But she'll be out soon, I'm sure." The words fall out of my mouth before I have the chance to stop myself, and I feel bad for saying that after what Jasper had said earlier. I should be asking the doctors, telling them that it was a mistake this morning, that they have to let her out. I wince as I think of what she could be going through, even more so than I had thought to begin with.

"I hope so," Emmett says quietly, which is a shock on its own, as Emmett is rarely quiet. "I just hope she's okay. Something set her off. She's been fine for a while now." This implies that Rosalie has done this before, I make a mental note of, and then I turn my attention back to Emmett.

"Well," I say, trying to be both sympathetic and supportive, "You can only help her through it." I pat his hand. "I'm sure her friend Vera will visit soon, too."

"Yes, that's what I'm afraid of," Emmett sighs. "Whenever she sees that baby, she's reminded of all she's missing out on. It breaks my heart to see her suffer. She won't even tell me what's wrong half of the time. You know what she's like by now. She pretends she's okay and then she lies awake at night, alone and worried. That's why she's always so half dead. She says she's always been like it, but I've seen pictures of her before. Something is missing. Some spark that someone took away. It's not right. Now she's set back even further and Dr Cullen will think she really is crazy."

I give him a pointed look. "You're talking to a fellow crazy person here. Better watch your words." I joke, trying to defer the attention from Rosalie. This at least causes a small smile to form on his lips and he shakes his head at me.

"A little ball of sunshine to my ice queen." He laughs. "That's what you are." I shake my head back at him, and smile back. "You _are."_ He insists. "I've seen you with Esme. You know, before you came, I had never seen her smile. Ever." My brow creases and I feel even worse for Esme as I gesture for Emmett to continue. "I guess no-one really took any time for her. She was always crying, always upset. Everyone had their own issues to deal with." He looks at me guiltily. "I saw her as just another freak I had to deal with, I suppose. I know that's awful. It's nice to see someone smiling, at least." He shrugs.

"She's not crazy," I insist, glancing over at her as she stares at the TV, curled up like a cat on the sofa. "She's just…just sad."

"Everyone's sad, Alice." Emmett counters, a heavy sigh weighing his words down. "Even people who aren't in here. It's a justified response to life."

"Everything is a response to life. Dying is a response to life. It doesn't mean you have to spend every waking moment figuring out ways that today could kill you." I shrug my shoulders like he did previously. "Life is precious." I echo Esme's words, even though I'm not sure I believe them, and Emmett again shrugs his shoulders, like it's some kind of challenge. "If you don't want to focus on your own happiness, focus on Rosalie's. What would you say if she said that she always felt sad?"

Emmett considers for only a moment before a small smile appears on his face. "I'd tell her that there's so many things to be happy about, and how I could show her those things if she'd let me." He droops after he says this, and adds, "And she'd say that they're all outside of these four walls."

"You will be, too. Someday."

"Someday," Emmett echoes.

 **A/N:**

 **Hey! Has everyone been having a good February? Mine has been busy with coursework and other work, so that's why updates are slow. But they're longish so I hope that makes up for it. Be sure to leave a review and tell me what you want to see!**

 **\- Caitlin**


	8. Trust, Dust and Lust

"Are you okay?" I ask cautiously, as Rosalie's eyes snap open in the darkness, shining with emotion. A sound of irritation crosses her lips, and she gives me a look that makes me want to run and hide, reminiscent of childhood villains, though I'm not sure Rosalie would ever dress as a witch to give me a poisoned apple and she's far too vain to stop shaving if she wanted to "huff and puff and blow my house down".

"Why wouldn't I be?" Rosalie shoots back, her eyes piercing even in the dark. I watch her carefully, attempting not to offend her further. "I was in seclusion. Not prison."

"What's the difference?" I ask, my words breaking the tension that made my heart pound. Rosalie sits up, her leopard print pajamas visible thanks to a chink of light streaming from the moonlight from the window.

"Ever been to prison?" Rosalie asks. I sit up, too, pulling the covers tightly around my neck like a cocoon to keep me safe. I shake my head, though I think it's most likely a rhetorical question.

"What do you think?" I ask. Rosalie raises her eyebrow, utterly full of contempt for me. Her expression doesn't change as she thinks about her answer.

"I think you should mind your own business," she says callously. Then, as an afterthought, though I'm sure it was her main thought, she adds, "You have bedhead, by the way."

I glance at her, a frown forming on my face. "I'm in bed. So are you. It's very easily explained. And you don't have to be rude, Rosalie. Don't push away the people who care. You don't have that many of them."

"I've got more than you," she preens, and as I watch her, she looks like she isn't really sure she believes it herself.

Okay, that stung. I shrug my shoulders as if I don't care, because I know that the only reason she's doing it is because she's hurting too. "I suppose that's true." I say simply, because there's nothing else left to say. I turn around in bed, closing my eyes and ignoring Rosalie's eyes that I know are burning a hole into my back. I fade into a dreamless slumber, and hope not to wake for a very long time, if at all.

I sit in bed, fiddling with the tiny Alice in Wonderland charm on my bracelet and trying not to think about anything of great importance. Thinking too deeply always made emotions run high, always pushed me too far. My heart would thud and my mouth would go dry as I try to recover the breath that seemed so elusive in that moment. Panicked thoughts would swirl in my mind, screaming at me in an eerily silent room. And I would find myself wishing to not exist anymore. It wasn't death I craved; far from it. I wanted to escape from the life that restricted me so greatly, that even my thoughts could spin so fast inside my mind that I felt dizzy and breathless.

I push even those thoughts out of my mind, the mere notion of that possibility making me feel sick and far too hot. I'm suddenly aware of the heavy rain hitting against my window, splashing down in bucket loads. I'm drawn to the outside once I see the rain, reminded of happier times in the past when the rain meant comfort and warmth that I so desperately crave right now.

I stand up, pulling on a hoodie over my leggings and camisole, not caring that my clothes would be soaked through the moment my ballet flat crossed the doorframe. The walk is short, and I'm soon sitting outside on a bench that is reserved for the smokers, even though it's not strictly allowed. The rain mingles with the tears that are suddenly pouring down my cheeks for no apparent reason, and everything is wrong but the cleansing rain that soothes the burning in my heart. With every breath, this feeling of inadequacy intensifies. With every beat of my heart, I wish that life was different. And with every tear that falls, I wish that I would drown in this sadness.

"Alice, what are you doing?" A voice, muffled by the lashings of rain that hit the ground, calls out to me. A jacket is placed over my shoulders, and it feels warm and smells comfortingly clean and pleasant. An arm is wrapped around my waist, and I look up to Jasper, who watches me warily, like I'm a wild animal. Pity seeps into his features, and as much as I want to push him away, the closeness I need presents itself in his arms, so I let his arm snake around my waist and pull me closer.

He doesn't attempt to move me, apart from a gentle rocking movement that gives me a pattern to follow with my shallow breathing. "Why are you out here? What's the matter?" He tries again. I look up at him pathetically, overwhelmed by both my own feelings and his kindness, a side of him I wish would come out more often.

"Sometimes," I gulp through tears, my hair sticking unattractively to my face whilst he looks like he belongs in a commercial, "I just feel sad." Seemingly reading my mind, he pushes my hair back from my face and nods wordlessly, an eyebrow raising as he encourages me to continue. I shrug my shoulders miserably. "I don't know what to say. I'm just…sad." I sigh, attempting to blink away the tears as I stare up at him.

"You won't be any sadder indoors." Jasper reasons with me. "Why don't we go inside?" I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and bite my lip.

"You don't understand," I say, and I can hear the annoying whine in my voice that I used to tease my younger sister about. The thought of never seeing my baby sister again, the one I so eagerly awaited the arrival of, does nothing but increases my feelings of despair, and I sob harder.

"Oh, darlin'…" Jasper sighs, as he kisses the top of my head. I close my eyes and let him comfort me, actually feeling consoled. "If I don't understand, why don't you try and help me to?" His words are heavy with emotion, and he sighs as if the weight of the world rests on his broad shoulders.

I glance up at him. "I can't even help myself," I tell him miserably. Unable to stop myself, I reach up and trace the freckles on his cheeks that I've never noticed before. Jasper catches my wrist, flinching at my touch instinctively. "Why are you here?" I blurt out, and I instantly regret it as his face falls. For a moment, it's like we're frozen in time as he stares into my eyes, his hand in mid-air, cradling my wrist. And then he breaks the silence with a slow, steady breath through his nose, as if he was meditating. He lowers his hand, still holding my wrist, and intertwines our fingers as he rests his hand on his leg. "You don't have to answer that." I stare at him with wide eyes, as I hope to God that he doesn't start yelling at me. I don't think I could take that; it would push me over the edge. He's the only person I have in this crazy place, the only sane, safe place for me to rest. He looks down at me worriedly, his brow creasing as he stares down. "I never should have asked," I mutter, scared to look at him again and see those dark eyes giving me a look of contempt. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head at me, and rolls the little charm he gave me in his fingers. "I didn't give this to you so you'd have to feel small around me." He tells me, tracing the "Drink Me" message on the front with his pinkie finger. He sighs, clearly struggling with what to tell me and what to omit.

"But that's what I've just done to you." I tell him, biting my nail anxiously. He pulls my hand away gently, and puts his palm up against mine, his hand dwarfing my small hand completely.

"If there's one thing I don't feel when I'm around you, Alice," he says, a small chuckle escaping from his lips, "it's small."

I laugh, the sound mingling with my cries, and lean onto Jasper. "You don't have to tell me, if you're not ready. I…I understand."

"One day," he promises. I smile up at him, not quite believing him. He smiles sadly, and raises his eyebrow. "You can trust me." He assures me.

"I want to." I tell him, which is as good as it will get at the moment. He seems to understand that this is a compliment, and smiles down at me. And as much as I don't want to, I find myself smiling, too, enchanted by that contagious grin of his.

"Look, I shouldn't have said that, okay?" Rosalie says as she settles herself down at the table in the cafeteria for dinner.

I stare at Rosalie, and for a moment, I'm confused. Then I remember our conversation last night and I narrow my eyes. I glance to Emmett, who sits next to her, a smile, like always, on his face. "I know you're making Rosalie apologise, but you know, she hasn't actually said the words: _I'm sorry."_ I raise Emmett looks down to Rosalie, who gives him only a shrug.

"Rosie," he says, as if they've been over this before, and I don't doubt they have.

Rosalie's eyes narrow at me, and she looks as if she could bite me. "I'm not a dog." I don't respond, I simply smile back at her while she glowers. "Fine," she spits venomously, "I'm sorry. Happy now?"

"A little," I admit. "Still, I hope you're feeling better, Rosalie," I say genuinely, and Rosalie offers me a small, reluctant smile at which point I know everything is okay between us. I look around the room, and I catch Esme's eye as she smiles at me. "Listen, I'm going to sit with Esme. I'll catch up with you guys later." As I gather my tray, Emmett stops me.

"Wait," he says, grabbing my sleeve. "Call her over here." He smiles at me, and I can tell he's thinking about our conversation from the other day. I smile back at him, feeling proud and satisfied that I get to bring a smile to Esme's face. I gesture for her to join us as Rosalie begins to complain quietly.

"Emmett," she says, "Do we have to…?" Emmett ignores her for a moment, as he smiles at Esme, then he takes her hand and gives it a squeeze.

"Yes," he says firmly, a hardened expression on his face as if to say, "No arguments." I watch Esme walk slowly over to our table, graceful as always. I smile at her, and gesture for her to sit next to me. Emmett smiles and waves a small hello.

"Hi, Esme." I give her a reassuringly look, and indicate to Rosalie and Emmett. "This is Rosalie, and this is Emmett," I explain, pointing redundantly as if she didn't know who was who.

"Hello," Esme says, a little shyly, smiling. "How nice to be asked over." Her eyes shone brightly, with tears, I suppose, as she watched the two of them interacting. "Young love is always so sweet," she comments, sounding a little sad. She sighs, "To be young again, what I would give!" She smiles at Rosalie. "I was never as pretty as you were, though. You or Alice, for that matter. I was so pleased when I was married…" she trails off, and shakes her head. "Sorry. I'm rambling."

"You're not," I assure her. "It's nice to hear you talk. Your stories are so interesting." Rosalie sits forward, more interested now that she's been complimented on her prettiness, and I almost laugh.

"You have to create adventures," Esme sighs. "Then you'll have just as many stories to tell as I do." I smile at her.

"I'll bet you didn't spend your formative years in a place like this," I say, smiling coyly. Esme smiles sadly at me, and shakes her head.

"I still lived with my parents. I had a wonderful childhood. But Alice," she pressed on, pursing her lips as she thought for the right words, "You don't have to _be_ anywhere to make a good memory. It's about people and experiences. You're getting better here, and the care is good." In the back of my mind, I thought of Jasper's comment about the orderlies, but I don't mention it to Esme, who looks enthralled by her own memories. "One day you'll look back here, and if you made those adventures – no matter how small or insignificant they may be to someone on the outside – you'll think back with a smile, not a wistful glance."

I'm walking back to my room when I see Jasper coming out of Dr Cullen's office. Though I don't want to, I make myself walk with him. "Alice," he says, nodding a hello. I smile at him, trying my best to appear happy through my nerves. When his walk slows to a halt, I guess that I'm not doing a very good job of hiding my feelings.

"What is it?" Jasper asks, his forehead creasing. He looks preoccupied about something, but I don't question him. He's probably thinking about his session with Dr Cullen. I often leave feeling more empty than when I arrived, and with a lot to consider.

"I want to tell you something." I say awkwardly, as he stands stoically, watching me. He nods, and continues to walk towards the always empty TV room, where he sits down. "I know…I know you're not ready to share why you're in here. But for some stupid reason, I want to tell you why I am."

"Okay," he says, sitting forward. "You don't have to tell me, you know. It doesn't matter to me." I smile at him.

"It's part of me. If you stick around after you hear, then I know you're worth my time. If you don't, and you think I'm crazy…well, then that's just another person who'll stay away from me." I shrug absently, though I _do_ care what he thinks, I desperately want him to tell me I'm not crazy, and that he understands. I feel pathetic for admitting it, but I can't help my feelings.

"Okay," he repeats, and I begin to think that's the only word he knows. "Take your time. I won't interrupt."

"I don't know where to start." I admit, glancing up at him. He smiles and shrugs his shoulders.

"The beginning might be a good place." I roll my eyes at him.

"I guess it all started when I was little. My mother had brought my little sister home from the hospital, and I loved her from the moment I saw her, little Cynthia. I don't know what triggered it. I suppose I've always been…in tune with things. When I was little, I would refuse to do certain things because they felt wrong, or because I didn't want something bad to happen…when my parents made me do them, a bad thing would happen. When I got older, and Cynthia was born, it got worse…or better, I suppose. I started seeing things in my mind. Scenes unfolding that hadn't happened yet. My little sister falling on the rug that hadn't been put down right. I'd straighten it before she fell, or sometimes, I'd just wait to see if something happened." I look up at him guiltily. "I didn't want to hurt her. I just thought it was my imagination."

I sigh. "They got more frequent when I needed them. One day, I got a vision that my cousin would be in an accident. I warned him." I put my head in my hands. "My mother told me not to. I always told her when I saw something, and I suppose she didn't quite believe me. I couldn't let him get hurt though, and I warned him that if he left the house that night, that he might not come home." I take a deep breath to control my emotions. "He left."

"Oh, Alice," Jasper says, wincing at my words. I nod.

"He died that night. Didn't even make it to the hospital. And at the funeral…my aunt, she started screaming at me. She called me a witch. Evil. She told me I'd caused his death." I shake my head. "I didn't do anything, I swear. I was at home all night." I close my eyes. "I was only thirteen." When my eyes open again, they are filled with tears that I attempt to ignore. "Everyone thought I was a witch then. They thought I made bad things happen. Nobody wanted anything to do with me – not even my own father. He believed his sister, and told my mother that I wasn't to be trusted, especially not around Cynthia." I shrug my shoulders, trying to contain myself. "She didn't believe that. She thought I was…odd. She thought I was eccentric, and that I just wanted to stand out. I didn't." I shake my head again. "I wanted to blend in more than anything. My father was so angry. He was always bad tempered. Always had a fist to add to a problem, especially when it came to the children. I never liked him, even as a little girl. But then one day, I saw a terrible thing." The memory made me feel sick, and I felt like retching. I pushed the feeling down and continued.

"I saw my father shooting my mother." I screw my eyes shut and let the tears seep from my closed eyes. "It's a memory I'll never get rid of. I told her. I warned her about it, I did. But she was so in love. She told me to stop being like this, told me to just be normal for once. And then she told me that she would always love me, even if she couldn't believe me this time. Two weeks later…she was dead. I didn't even cry. I couldn't. I knew that it was going to happen, but it was a shock. I thought she'd walk through the door any moment…she never did." I ball up my fists, and let the tears spill down my cheeks. "It was my fault."

"No," Jasper says, as he pulls me closer.

"It was," I insist. "I should never have told anyone anything."

"You were trying to protect people," he insists. I cry harder at his comment.

"You believe me," I sob out of relief. "You don't think I'm crazy." He shakes his head and pulls me even closer, his chin on my head.

"I will always believe you." He says, sounding subdued. "And you can always trust me." He says. And this time, I believe it.

"I do."

 **A/N:**

 **Hey everyone. I know it's been awhile since I updated…I really only updated because I got a review yesterday which reminded and inspired me to do so…so I spent today writing this chapter, apologies if there are any mistakes. Thanks for that review, it meant a lot.**

 **I'm never going to give up on this story, as far as I can tell now, and I have it planned out, so don't worry about that. I don't have writers block; I have some personal issues going on at the moment as well as exams in May so please don't be upset at the lack of updates that will (or won't) be appearing. It's unavoidable unfortunately. But please do leave a review or write me because I love seeing everything. Sorry for this long note.**

 **Happy Easter.**

 **Caitlin**


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